


Intimacy 101

by Ronile



Series: What happened next [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronile/pseuds/Ronile
Summary: Now that all those pesky little hiccups like the End of the World and the Legions of Heaven and Hell watching their Every Step had been dealt with, Aziraphale was quite ready to progress his relationship with Crowley.In hindsight, it might have been a good idea to inform Crowley of this fact, because right now the demon was losing his someone-damn mind.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: What happened next [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751158
Comments: 13
Kudos: 150





	Intimacy 101

It started with a kiss.

Well, to be more accurate it started with a garden, and a snake, and a flaming sword, but since those events are comprehensively chronicled elsewhere, for the sake of this story we will begin with the kiss. 

Crowley was happy. All the stress and uncertainty of the last few days had finally drained away to be replaced by excellent food and even better company. And wine, lots and lots of wine. It was dark by the time the pair finally left the Ritz and meandered their way back through the streets of London, ending up as they always inevitably did on the front steps of Aziraphale's bookshop. 

The angel turned, looking directly into Crowley's eyes even through his glasses. "Thank you for such a lovely evening Crowley." He said softly. And then he kissed him. It was a gentle peck, barely there before it was gone, but it was there nonetheless.

Crowley's brain short-circuited.

And then Aziraphale was gone and Crowley was left staring at the closed door of the bookshop. 

Well. That was a thing. 

Definitely a thing. 

He was too drunk to deal with this right now. It would make sense when he was sober. Somehow. Yes, right, to bed. Sleep. Sleep would fix everything. He allowed the Bentley to drive him back to his apartment and subsequently blacked out the moment his head hit the pillow. 

In the morning he remembered why he usually sobered up  _ before _ falling asleep. 

*

Some time later Crowley's phone rang. Crowley, who had definitely not been sitting on the sofa nervously glaring at it for the better part of the morning, waited what he hoped was a reputation-maintaining period of time before picking it up. 

"Morning Angel."

"Crowley! I hope this isn't too early for you, but I just wondered if you might like to come for a walk. Feed the ducks you know, we wouldn't want them to think we'd forgotten them." 

"We fed the ducks yesterday."

"Oh." Crowley could feel Aziraphale deflate over the phone. Shit.

"Although." He said quickly. "Fat ducks. That's an idea. Some might say a positively demonic idea. I'll get the bread."

"Oh no, Crowley, I didn't mean..." Crowley put the phone down, sighed, and pulled a very confused head of lettuce out of his fridge. He really was going soft. 

Barely ten minutes later he was out the door and speeding towards St James Park. Leaving the Bentley in the only free parking space in the entirety of central London, he approached the duck pond with a mild sense of trepidation. Aziraphale, who had beaten him there, looked over and smiled. 

“Look how big the ducklings are getting now, we won’t be able to tell them from their parents soon.”

And that was it. They fell into easy conversation as if this was just another day. Half an hour, two laps of the park, and precisely zero kisses later Crowley was finally able to relax. Relax enough in fact to accidentally swing his hand just a little too close to Aziraphale’s. This particular act had been a guilty pleasure of his for some time, and in the past had always ended with Aziraphale blushing and pretending it had never happened. Easy, safe. But this time the Angel didn’t pull away, instead he grasped Crowley’s hand, and held it.

Crowley narrowly avoided tripping over the edge of the next flagstone. 

“Angel what…”

“Oh, look, the apples are finally ripe!” And he was dragged by the hand over to a small copse of apple trees and forced to endure the sight and  _ sound _ of the angel munching through the fruit with an unreasonable level of enjoyment. The many levels of irony and symbolism were not lost on him. 

So this was his life now. Walking through parks hand in hand with an angel. Cool. Cool cool cool. He could handle this. 

*

He could not handle this. Small touches, clasped hands, two more kisses (one in the park and one in the Bentley, not that he had committed each and every detail to memory or anything). And not a word. Not one single word of explanation in the whole week since this had started. 

Now Crowley was very familiar with the concept of Occam's razor. In fact he had explained the principle very successfully to several humans who had come a little too close to realising the truth of a situation that their mind was not capable of comprehending. Perhaps that was why he was so suspicious of it now, because no matter how many times a part of his consciousness told him  _ he likes you numbskull, just fucking demon-up and do something about it  _ another part reminded him that the last 6,000 years of Aziraphale’s company had taught him one lesson above all.  _ Tread Carefully _ . 

So he waited, and he watched, and thus inevitably he found himself in his present position. He was drunk again, that much was certain, but he didn’t think he was drunk enough to hallucinate, which meant that the hands currently running gloriously through his hair were real, and they could only belong to a certain angel. Forget  _ her _ , he decided, this was heaven right here, his head in his Angel's lap, and those hands in his hair. 

He thought back. There had been dinner, and wine, and coming back to the Angels’ bookshop, and more wine, and lounging on the sofa, and talking, and then  _ this _ . He was fairly sure that the talking had been about llamas, so how the one led to the other he wasn’t certain, but here he was, and there was no way he was going to do anything that might cause those hands to stop.

“Yes, definitely softer.” The words drifted from Aziraphale’s mouth to Crowley’s ears.

“Hmmm?”

“Your hair, softer than anything else I’ve ever felt. It’s silly I know but I’ve wanted to do this for quite some time.”

“Knock yourssself out Angel.”

And really. He should really use that opening, because he wasn’t going to get a better one, and they needed to talk about this. But warm. And hands. And yessss.

The last thing Crowley was conscious of before his eyes slipped closed was the Angel leaning over and gently pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. Yes, they would definitely talk about this. In the morning. 

*

Two days later Crowley was back in the bookshop. In truth he had barely left it since the apocalypse, however admitting that fact came with certain  _ implications, _ and so he persisted in telling himself he was just passing through. Again. 

The door chimed and Crowley mentally prepared himself to scare off another potential customer. This particular activity had been a favourite for almost as long as the bookshop had been in existence, after all what could be more demonic than getting between a human and a good book? That it made Aziraphale happy had simply been the icing on the proverbial cake. Crowley had developed an entire arsenal of techniques to be used depending on the Angel’s particular level of desperation on any given day, and he had just settled on allowing the scent of his suddenly allergy-inducing perfume to follow the human around the shop until they left, when he recognised the voice now speaking to Aziraphale. 

“… with the red hair has been here quite a bit lately hasn’t he?” 

Julia was an English phD student with a love of books to rival Aziraphale, and more importantly no money with which to attempt to purchase them. The Angel therefore allowed her to browse the shelves unhindered, and the pair had slowly developed a tentative, if entirely literature-based, friendship. The current topic of conversation was new territory. 

“Crowley? Well yes of course. He is my husband.”

A stack of books materialised in Crowley’s hands entirely for the purpose of being dropped. They were not disappointed. 

“WHAT!”

“Crowley! I didn’t realise you were there!”

“You. Out. Now.” Crowley stormed towards the counter and pointed from Julia to the door in a way that brokered no argument.

“Really my dear, I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“I’ll deal with you in a minute.” He all but growled at the Angel. “First. You. Out.” Julia did not wait to be told a third time, and Crowley locked the door emphatically behind her before turning back to Aziraphale. 

And watching as the Angel seemed to crumple before him, an expression of pure utter defeat on his face. Shit. 

“I’m so sorry Crowley. I shouldn’t have said that. I knew you wouldn’t approve. Four-letter words and all that. I really am terribly sorry.”

Wait.

“Is  _ that _ why you think I’m upset?” He asked incredulously. 

“It isn't?” 

“You total and complete idiot.” Crowley strode over and pulled the now sobbing Angel into his arms. “Is that what this has been about? All this time I’ve been tiptoeing around, trying not to go too fast for you, meanwhile you’ve been telling everyone we’re married? Everyone that is except for the person you’re supposedly married to,  _ because you thought I wouldn’t approve _ ?” 

“Well when you put it like that it does seem a little silly. I haven’t been telling everyone though, it just sort of slipped out just now.” 

“Angel…”

“Only I rather thought we had become quite fond of each other these last few centuries, and now that we're free of... well, outside interference, it might be nice to express it a little. And I realised, somewhere down the line, that that’s how I see you. And I wanted to say something so desperately, but well, four-letter words and all that. I didn’t know how you would react.”

Crowley let out a hollow laugh. “So instead of saying anything, you just started kissing me and hoped I wouldn’t notice.”

“Sort of yes. Not my finest moment I admit.”

“Angel please stop me before I do something incredibly impulsive.”

Aziraphale wiped a tear from his eye before reaching up and gently removing Crowley’s glasses. “No my dear, I don’t think I will.”

“Then don’t you dare say this is too much for you. I don’t think I could take it.” And ignoring the now very loud voice shouting  _ what the fuck are you doing _ inside his head, Crowley pulled a ring from his shaking finger (gold, bird motif, definitely not bought because it reminded him of a certain Angel) and slipped it onto the had now caressing his face. “I love you.” 

“I know. I’ve known for a long time. I didn’t think I’d ever hear you say it.” 

“Aziraphale…”

“I love you too. Of course I do.” 

Crowley let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and kissed him.

*

  
  



End file.
